A is for Apple
by Xirysa
Summary: Twenty-six little drabbles about Oscar and André at various points throughout their lives. OscarxAndré centric. M is for Music: And they danced to a song that was all their own.
1. A is for Apple

**Xirysa Says:** Hehe, my first multichaptered fic for RoV! So yes, this is going to be the same format as those little children's books that explain the alphabet. Just because I can. So... Yes. Here. Wow. Anyone realize that my messages up here are getting shorter and shorter? Oo

* * *

"A" Is for Apple

"Hey, André?"

The boy in question gave an affirmative grunt as he bit into the large red apple he held in his rather small seven year old hands. He closed his eyes and chewed, smiling at the sweetness that flooded his mouth and using a sleeve to wipe away the juice leaking out of the corners of his mouth.

"André?"

Swallowing, he sat down at the base of the large apple tree by the stable and looked at the small blond child who stood next to him. Looking at her out of the corner of his deep green eyes, he raised one eyebrow questioningly before taking another hearty bite out of the fruit. He swallowed and wiped his lips once again before turning his head to look at his six year old companion.

"Yes, Oscar? What is it?" He noticed how she glared at the fruit in his hand and sheepishly transferred it the other. However, the apple really was too large for the petite hands of the boy, who almost dropped it on the ground. He gave a small cry and fumbled a bit before holding it securely with two hands again. Turning his head towards her, he gave her a goofy little grin. Her response was to sigh and lean back against the tree.

"What is it, exactly, with you and apples?" She clenched her fist, and the sheathes of the two rapiers she held grated loudly against each other. "I told you to meet me out here so we could fence, not so that you could stuff your face with fruit!"

As if on cue (or to annoy her, she never understood which), the boy promptly took another bite out of the red fruit, sighing in pleasure as the flavor swept through his tiny mouth. She looked up at the sky, almost pleadingly, as her friend continued to indulge in his treat—she definitely getting fed up with his antics.

"I love apples so much! They're so sweet and juicy and yummy…" Anything else he might have said was lost as she hit his head with the hilt of her sword. A sharp _crack_ rang through the air.

"Then why don't you _marry_ your precious apples!" She couldn't help but smirk as he sat there, rubbing his head ruefully as his apple rolled about in the dirt. Her feeling of triumph immediately changed to one of guilt as she saw the tears well up in his eyes and saw the bump beginning to form through his dark hair. Had she really hit him that hard?

He sniffled and looked up, eyes narrowed and lower lip protruding slightly. The blue eyes met the green and looked away uncomfortably.

"Ah… Sorry about that, André." His eyes widened—it was rare for her to apologize. Rarer still was for her to apologize with such an apologetic tone in her voice.

Realizing that his mouth was hanging open, he quickly shut it and stood up. Of course, standing up so quickly caused the blood to rush to his head, and he was unsteady on his feet for a few moments before he felt stable enough to speak.

"It-it's all right, Oscar. I told you I'd fence with you, so we'll fence." He promptly took one of the swords from her hand, swinging it about so that it crossed his chest diagonally. Looking down at her, he gives her a goofy little grin.

She smiled and mimicked his motions. The stood close to each other, noses barely two inches apart. She had to suppress a giggle as she realized he smelt exactly like a giant apple.

"Tell you what, André. You win, I'll get you a whole bushel of apples."

"You're on, Oscar."

They bowed to each other, as was customary before a duel. A moment later, they were a blur of steel and fabric as they began to practice.

Needless to say, she won.

But she gave him the apples anyway.

* * *

**Xirysa Says:** So, I don't know if this has happened to anyone else, but it sure happened to me a lot when I was in grade school. You say you love _blank_ because _blank_, and then some smart ass goes "Why don't you marry it?" So... I just had to put it in there. Um... Yeah. André and apples. Sort of goes together, doesn't it? Hehe, please do the whole shebang with the reading and the reviews! Y'all will get virtual cookies if you do!

_Up Next:_ The Letter "B": Bath


	2. B is for Bath

**Xirysa Says:** I never had this problem when I was little—honestly, I loved bath time! I still do, actually... Anyway, that's beside the point. I somehow imagined Oscar and André not wanting to take baths. But they need to, right? And who better than Granny to make them bathe! And so, I present to you the letter "B"!

* * *

"B" Is for Bath

"No, no, NO! I won't do it, Granny! No matter what you say, I won't do it!" André struggled against the grasp of his grandmother, although he was failing miserably. The woman sighed, recalling how her own son had acted whenever she had called him for his own bath.

Honestly, she didn't understand what it was with men and water! Her son had tried to explain it to her once when he was younger, how water was great for drinking and all, but real men didn't take baths.

_Real men my foot!_ She huffed to herself. André was dirty and needed to be cleaned—that was all there was to it.

"André, you're only eight years old! You are most definitely not at an age to tell me when you can or can't take a bath! Now, let's go!" Madame Grandier tugged on André's ear (a bit forcefully, she might add), dragging him in the direction of the servant's quarters.

"Argh! Quit pulling so hard, you old coot!" The boy protested, only to find the old woman's notorious wooden spoon smacking him upside the head.

"Where did you learn to talk like that, young man?" She stopped hitting him long enough to allow him to talk, making a mental note to have him wash his mouth out with soap when they got to the tub, even though what he said really wasn't all that vulgar. That would teach him to say unkind things about people.

"Ow! Ah! O-Oscar… Oscar told me that!" André raised his arms, trying to protect his head. Honestly, he didn't see what the problem was. It wasn't even a bad word! But there was no arguing with Granny.

"Mademoiselle Oscar!" Madame Grandier cried, mostly out of habit. But she lowered her spoon. Oscar had taught that to her fool of a grandson? She looked at André and grabbed his wrist. "Let's go find her, then. I need to have a talk to her about language!" She made another mental note to have another bar of soap ready to wash the younger child's mouth.

Dragging the boy behind her, she marched over to the stables, where she knew Oscar would be—it was usually around this time of day that the child could be found there, practicing her fencing under the apple tree.

Ah! There she was! She was lying at the base of the tree, a bright red apple in her hand, covered in dirt. It was in her hair, all over her clothes, on her face… Even her fencing sword was coated in dust.

The old woman blanched. "Mademoiselle Oscar!" The child turned her head and sat up quickly when she saw who had called her.

"Good afternoon, Nanny. Hello, André." She stood up and brushed the dust from her trousers, although it really didn't help her—if anything, it made her look even dirtier.

Even though she was barely over five feet tall, the Madame Grandier made an impressive sight with her eyes narrowed and arms crossed over her chest. The fact that André was currently cowering behind her covered in mud and hay didn't bode well either. She tapped a foot impatiently, and Oscar immediately knew what was going to happen. Her mouth dropped open in horror

"No! No, I won't! You can't make me!" Oscar turned quickly and ran. Unfortunately, she didn't remember that she had been lying at the foot of the tree. As a result, the blonde child ran straight into the tree, falling straight to the ground. She vaguely recalled mumbling something about baths being for girls before passing out.

-x-x-x-

Oscar and André sat next to each other, each wrapped in a fluffy white towel. There were still suds in André's dark hair, and Oscar's face was still red from being scrubbed so hard. Both were gagging, the bitter taste of soap still on their tongues (Oscar had let out a rather shocking stream of expletives upon realizing that she was in the washtub—Nanny had sad that there was only one way to clean that mouth).

Madame Grandier stood behind them, hands on her hips and an accomplished expression on her face. She patted them each on the head once before leaving the room. Before shutting the door behind her, she turned around and smiled at the brooding Oscar and André.

_Hah! Real men my foot!_

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**Xirysa Says:** I apologize if any of the characters seem OOC but... Well, You never really see much of André's and Oscar's childhood together, so... And yeah, I said that André is seven and Oscar is six, even though André doesn't come to the estate until he's eight in the manga. So I used the anime ages instead. Hehe. As always, reviews and feedback are appreciated!

_Up Next:_ The Letter "C": Change


	3. C is for Change

**Xirysa Says:** First off, sorry for the wonkiness—submitted the wrong document by accident, and didn't have internet connection for the past 24 hours. So that's that. And now... Le gasp! An angst-ridden chapter? Probably the first thing I've written for _Rose of Versailles_ in a while that wasn't humorous in anyway. So, yeah… This chapter was surprisingly hard to write. Um… Be warned for language (though it's really not that bad) and… Lewd thoughts. Though it's really not explicit. But if you feel as if the rating should go up, then I understand. But please, read the chapter anyway.

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"C" is for Change

She didn't understand what was happening.

Yes, she knew that he loved her. And she loved him, regardless of everything that had happened. But not in a romantic sense of the word—a brother, maybe. Yes, that was it. He was her best friend—she loved him like she loved her sisters. That was it. He was like a brother to her.

Because her heart belonged to another—the Swedish nobleman who had stolen the queen's heart, and her own in the process. Her own heart, whose beating quickened whenever he was around and fluttered every time she thought of him. At least, it had used to.

Something was happening.

No longer was it Fersen's face she saw before she fell asleep, nor were her dreams filled with images of his arms around her.

Her thoughts were now invaded by the image of a familiar dark haired man every night. She couldn't help but picture his strong arms around her whenever she watched him shoulder a rifle during drill practice, couldn't help but imagine how good his supple lips would feel on hers every time she saw him bite into an apple. Sometimes, when he drank, a little wine would leak out of the corners of his mouth, and she wanted to be the one to wipe away the liquid. And then there were the things she thought in the emptiness of her room, when she was alone at night. The thought of their bodies together, flesh on flesh, his fingers dancing on the soft skin of her back and…

_NO!_

What the hell was going on? She shouldn't—_couldn't_—be having those kinds of thoughts! He was a commoner, she was a noble. A noble, who was the commander of Company B of the French army! He was merely a soldier under her command. And she couldn't have feelings for him, now, could she? What was it that her father had instilled in her mind when she had begun her military training?

"_Oscar, a soldier should never let their heart dictate their life. You are to only listen to the words of your commanding officers, of the people who rank higher than you. And always remember, someone _will_ rank higher than you, no matter what class you are."_

And so she had steeled herself, frozen her heart into the twisted, cold thing that the nobles at Versailles constantly twittered about behind her back. Emotions like _that_ made one weak, and she couldn't afford that.

And yet…

Why did her heart ache whenever she saw him talking to one of the maids at the mansion? How come she felt like strangling the girls who giggled at every little thing he said, even if it wasn't funny? And when she saw another woman plant her lips on his cheek in return for doing her favor, why did she want to scream with every fiber of her being?

Every time she saw him stumble or walk into something because it was on his blind side or heard him ridiculed and scorned by his fellow soldiers for associating with nobles, she wanted to take him into her arms and soothe him, even though he held his composure and kept his anger in check.

So much had changed in the past twenty years… Or had it? Whenever she thought about it, there really was only one thing that was constant—him, calm and collected, always standing just behind her and helping her with whatever problem she had.

But when had everything begun to change? Or rather, when had _she_ begun to notice things were changing? Was it that night when _it_ had happened? When she had realized that he was a human with very human feelings? Or was it when Fersen had saved her from that mob, and she had gone crazy after realizing that he was still in the group's grasp? She had shocked herself with her word choice that night, and for every night thereafter.

Now, whenever she thought of him, her heart soared and burned with something she couldn't explain.

Damn it all! For once, she'd change. Just for him.

Just for once, she'd let her heart rule instead of her mind.

For her André.

* * *

**Xirysa Says:** First off, I would like to apologize if Oscar's thoughts seem all over the place. But honestly, this was surprisingly really damn hard to write. Really, really, _really_ hard. The original idea was going to be puberty, but... Somehow, I thought it was obvious. And I don't like being obvious. So... there was a change of plans. I had the entire concept like… Down pat in my mind, but somehow the words really didn't flow like they normally do. So as of now, I'd like to apologize (again), but this time for a thoroughly crappy chapter. I reread the chapter and decided that it doesn't sound bad. But, you all know the drill with feedback, criticism, and the like.

_Up Next: _The Letter "D": Damned


	4. D is for Damned

**Xirysa Says:** More angst! But this time, from André's POV. And Oscar's as well—mostly because I have that ability as the author of this 'fic. So… Train of thought for both of our favorite characters here. And… Well, this is mostly what I believe they _may_ have thought at the end of "The Incident". So… Erm. Yeah. Enjoy. Sounds like such an enjoyable title, doesn't it?

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"D" is for Damned

He understands if he ends up going to the fire and brimstone of Hell. What he had done was terrible, and he doubts that he will ever forgive himself for it.

_But it's not your fault!_ The tiny voice in his mind argues. _Really, if there is anyone to blame, it's that little blonde temptress._

No, he retorts. It's not her fault! She didn't know—had no way of knowing. Of the way his heart would pound against his rib cage, of how he longed to run his hand through the golden waves of her hair. The person he loves more than life itself…

_You're only human, too, you know._

That wretched voice! Go away, he tells it. Just leave!

_It's only natural_, it says.

Oh, he so wants to believe it. How he just wants the sweet nothings of the voice assure him that it's all going to be alright.

_It will be alright if you want it to be._

But I sinned, he argues back. I sinned and I've damned myself as punishment and nothing will ever make it better.

_Well, then. Maybe you are damned after all… And her too, the little bitch._

He buries his head in his hands as he fights a losing internal battle.

_Damn you, Oscar. Why do I love you so much?_

_How come you saw a side of me I never wanted you to see?_

-x-x-x-

She lies where he left her, cold and alone and exposed on the bed. Her mind is churning with thoughts she can't even begin to organize. She feels the wetness on her cheeks, and brushes them away without a second thought.

Finally, she sits up. How much time has passed, she doesn't know. Nor does she care. She moves herself around so that she sits on the edge of the bed, golden head downcast and willing the tears she knows won't come.

The bed creaks a bit as she stands up and moves to the full length mirror at the other end of the room. She looks at her reflection—it is the most vulnerable she has ever seen herself. Wordlessly, she removes the torn remains of her shirt and tosses them carelessly to the floor beside her. She watches her reflection mimic her as she wraps her arms around her body, covering her small bare breasts.

She knows he saw, but she doesn't care about that. He saw her in her weakest state yet, and it has hurt her.

But perhaps what has hurt her even more is that he wasn't himself. She lowers her arms and proceeds to remove her trousers, throwing them in a heap beside the ruined shirt.

Standing naked in front of the mirror, she looks at the image in front of her. The woman in the mirror stares back, eyes expressionless. Her gaze lowers when she feels a warm trickle between her legs, and she grimaces when she realizes the nature of the liquid.

Bending down, she grabs the shirt and rips off a piece of cloth, using it to wipe away the trail of crimson.

It's at times like these she damns herself for being weak.

But even more so, she damns herself for being a woman.

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**Xirysa Says:** Well… School's starting in about two weeks. Which means that I won't be updating as often as I'd like. So look in your inboxes mostly Sunday mornings (well, for me at least), since that's when I'm at my volunteer job. And yay! More angst! Next chapter should be more like-hearted though, for those of you who like the stuff. XD I'm just kidding, I like it too. This was the first time I've done angst from André's POV, actually. And… I hope that the difference between the two wasn't horrible, either. Constructive criticism and feedback is welcome as usual! …And you all do realize that you DO have a say as to what's going to be in future chapters, right?

_Up Next:_ The Letter "E": Embarrassed


	5. E is for Embarrassed

**Xirysa Says: **Well, now. Something more light-hearted (because how can you fill embarrassment with angst, right?) And this one has Alain in it, which automatically makes it funny. Because I think that Alain is the type of person to make light out of even the darkest situations (I'm a lot like him in that respect, actually). But… Agh. I never liked writing first person very much. So… I have a feeling that it's going to sound really odd and be quite awkward to read. I took artistic liberties once again (when do I not?), but I think that in this case it worked out. Anyway… On to the 'fic!

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"E" Is for Embarrassed

Today is July 13, 1789. The barracks are quiet, which means that something had happened. And as the squad leader of Company B, this has my attention right away.

I get up from my bunk and stand in front of the little table we all played cards on so many times—the rest of the guys follow and stand a few steps behind me. The commander and André walk into the room then, and I can't help but notice something… Different about them, I guess.

He's standing behind her like he usually does, in that quietly protective way of his. That's not odd. Sure, he's standing a bit closer to the commander than he normally would, but… Ah! I see it now. The way he looks at her… It's tender and… He's smiling? André hasn't smiled around her in quite a long time.

The commander seems different too. She's acting like her usual cold self, but… Oh, there! The way she "accidentally" brushes his hand with hers before sitting down at the table… Something's up.

She begins to speak about our orders for the morning, but I look at André instead. He turns his head and looks at me, though the expression in his eyes is a bit hard to read. I stare right back, but do a double take when I notice something. Is that what I think it is? Why, yes. Yes it is. I want to laugh, but steel myself and look at the commander instead.

Now that I understand what has happened, I am not that surprised when the commander—no, _Oscar_— announces she has become André's wife and resigns as our commander.

"Oscar…" André whispers, and she turns and looks at him. Her eyes are filled with an emotion all too familiar to me; Diane had that same expression when she told me about her engagement. My heart aches at the memory, but I keep it to myself.

Finally, I decide that it's time for me to butt in.

I laugh and sit on the table across from her. "Commander, you don't have to resign. We decided that we were going to fight with the citizens before you arrived. We were going to join the revolution anyway! If we fight with the citizens under your command, we'll be a much stronger force! And now…" I extend my hand, and she takes it.

"Congratulations. To the both of you." And I mean it.

For the first time, the commander looks humble. She and André bow their heads, mumbling _thank yous_ and accepting other congratulatory comments from the boys. I hear them laugh, and I know that they've noticed it too.

"Oh, and André…" He raises his head and looks at me once again. "You've got a little… Mark. There, on your neck."

I grin as he raises a hand to his throat and blushes when his fingers come in contact with a pretty decent-sized red mark just below his Adam's apple, partially hidden by the collar of his uniform. When the commander puts a hand on her own collar bone (even though it's covered by her uniform) and turns a very bright shade of pink, I can't help but start laughing. "I suppose it's safe to assume you two were very busy last night."

The others start guffawing and catcalling as the commander leaves (rather hurriedly, I might add) to talk to Colonel Dagout about the change of plans. André turns to follow her, but I clap him on the shoulder and pull him back into the room.

"So… Can we expect grandchildren any time soon?" I joke. Bad move. My cheek soon makes contact with André's fist, but I don't mind.

Poking fun at one's best friend is worth anything.

Especially when you embarrass him at the same time.

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**Xirysa Says:** Alright, I lied. Minor angst (but you probably had to squint to see it) about Diane. Bad Xirysa! Bad! -bangs head against wall- Alright, I'm good now.Whoa, this one was somehow much easier to write—it only took half an hour to write, and then another ten minutes of editing! Anyway, the inspiration for this was one of my friends during French during school last year. Poor thing, walked around wearing a bandana for a week because of the hickies… XD Speaking of which, I really didn't know whether the French would have the word "hickie" in their vocabulary, so it became a mark. Epic fail, I know. But whatever. I actually wanted to put this chapter later in the series, but had another idea for the same letter that I really liked. And so… Yeah. I personally think that embarrassed!Oscar and embarrassed!André would be really fun to see. Anyway, you all know the drill with the reading and the reviewing and the feedback and the criticism, right? And seriously, I want your opinions for future chapters!

_Up Next_: The Letter "F": Feet


	6. F is for Feet

**Xirysa Says: **For those of you in the United States (I don't know if it's overseas or not)… Do you remember that old Dr. Seuss book _The Foot Book_? Hahaha, that was the first book I ever read completely on my own! Just a random piece of information for all of you. Not that you needed to know or anything, but… Oh, I'm rambling again! So sorry! Oh, and I epically fail at dialogue… -shot- Just wanted to try something with it… Tell me how it sounds/looks/etc…

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"F" Is for Feet

"Oh, damn it all! Not again!"

Oscar laughed heartily as André landed on his rear end for the seventh time in a row. He simply stared at her as he rubbed his offended bottom ruefully, and she couldn't help but laugh even harder. Honestly, a sixteen year old boy being bested by a fifteen year old girl in a fencing match? The thought itself was hilarious. Of course, when the combatants were taken into perspective, it really wasn't that funny at all. And so Oscar reveled in her sixty-seventh victory. Not that she was counting, of course.

André got up and stood in front of her, arms crossed over his chest. He had finally reached the point in his growth that he towered a more than a head over her, and so allowed himself to relish in this little victory. His sword—along with the rather humiliating memory of his defeat—lay forgotten in the dirt.

Composing herself, Oscar looked at her companion in an attempt to be the picture of pure innocence. Naturally, it wasn't working—Oscar wasn't the type of girl who relied on her "feminine charms", as Nanny called them, to get what she wanted (a certain mistress of the king came to her mind at this point, but she shrugged it off).

As a result, her normally stoic expression cracked every now and then as a small smile flashed across her face. She stifled another laugh when he reached up to pull pieces of grass out of his hair.

"Seriously, Oscar. It's not funny. Not. At. All." André wagged a finger at her for emphasis in a style very reminiscent of his grandmother, but the action had no affect on her whatsoever. Sighing, he wiped away the sweat that had accumulated on his forehead with his sleeve. "I still haven't worn in those new shoes I got, and they hurt!"

Driving her blade into the earth beside her, Oscar sighed. "Excuses will get you no where in life, André."

She was pleased to note that André said nothing to contradict that statement; it _was_ a true, after all. However, she couldn't help but pity him a little as he limped back to where the horses where tethered by the river to find the water canteens they had brought with them.

Really… She would have to get him some better shoes the next time they went to Paris. Her train of thought was broken as they started another one of their infamous arguments.

"Tell you're feet to stop growing, then."

"Well, that's a bit impossible."

"…You're impossible."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not going to say it again."

"At least my feet aren't so tiny I have get my shoes specially made!"

"I got them from my mother—it's not my fault."

"I know, I know. All the women of the Jarjayes household are famous for their small feet, blah, blah, blah… Yeah. I know."

"…Did you just call me a woman?"

"Why, yes. Yes I did."

That did it. Oscar threw herself at André and gave a satisfied little grunt as her fist collided with the side of his face. When he did not retaliate immediately, she brought her knee up and slammed it into his stomach—hard. He fell to the ground, where he remained coughing on his hands and knees. Oscar stood over him, hands on her hips and smiling triumphantly.

However, she didn't expect André to shoot up and punch her back. She stepped back, dazed, as he closed in for another hit. His knuckles connected with her shoulder, and she retaliated by jamming her elbow into his chest. The fight had begun.

They fought hand to hand, swords lying forgotten, until both of them collapsed on the bank of the river. Neither knew how much time had passed. The sun had begun to set when André finally broke the peaceful silence.

"Seems like we always have fist fights over stupid things here, right Oscar?"

She nodded, too tired to respond. They remained like that for a few moments before he spoke again.

"You know… I get my feet from her too. My mother, I mean."

"Really." It was more of a statement than a question, but he really didn't mind.

"Yeah."

"…But you're feet are still large. You do know that, right?"

"Yes, Oscar… I do believe that we went over this already."

* * *

**Xirysa Says:** Is it just me, or are these little oneshots getting shorter and shorter? OO Oh well. Anyway… Has anyone else noticed how tiny Oscar's feet are in the anime, or is that just me? And André just seems like a guy who would have large feet. Once again, artistic license as author. I kind of like writing dialogue, actually. It's quite fun. And I've decided that I'll have you guys on your toes in anticipation… Even though it's far away, the letter "P" is going to be fun. I'm excited for it. And now, it's not something that young virgin eyes shouldn't read. I only went as far as the hickies, alright? Oh, and congratulations to **loulou.k**, because I decided to do her suggestion for the letter "G". So… Until next time, loves! And erg... Now I really wanna do some fanart... Maybe I will later. If I do, I'll let all of you know, alright? Hehe, love you guys!

_Up Next:_ The Letter "G": Glasses


	7. G is for Glasses

**Xirysa Says: **I actually do wear glasses IRL. But right now I'm wearing my contacts. Speaking of which, I need to get more… Ah well—I'll work on that later. But what is this? A new format of 'fic—that of a play? How blasphemous. –shot- Once again, trying something new. Because I read a couple of 'fics like this and was inspired—yes, I can be both inspired and inspiring. How cool is that? Anything else? Oh. Normal text is speech, **bold** is just to differentiate between characters, and _italicized_ text is stage direction.

* * *

"G" Is for Glasses

_Enter scene. Two children are crouched in a corner of a room, both appearing to be around seven or eight years of age. Both are barefoot and have expressions of intense concentration upon their faces. The taller one has darker hair and squats just behind his smaller blonde companion. In the center of a room, an old woman lies sleeping in an old armchair. On her lap is a small book, and her small round glasses threaten to fall off her nose at any moment. She snores a bit, but otherwise the room is perfectly silent. The two children crawl forward when the dark haired boy suddenly lets out a muffled yelp._

**André:** Ow!

**Oscar: **_Turns around and glares at him. Hisses at him._ Shut up, you idiot! She'll hear you!

**André: **I stepped on a nail! A sharp one too! _Sits down and inspects injured foot._

**Oscar: **Are you dying?

**André: **…No.

**Oscar: **Are you bleeding then?

**André: **Nope.

**Oscar: **Then shut up.

_She turns back around and resumes crawling back towards the old woman. André sighs and glares at her, but follows anyway. They make their way to the center of the room, and soon are standing on either side of the arm chair. Aforementioned chair is in a sorry state indeed—the fabric is threadbare and worn, and stuffing is coming out from random pieces on the cloth and between the seams. Despite all this, however, it gives off a feeling of warmth, contentment, and familiarity, even though it may in fact be the woman in the chair. Oscar stands on tiptoe and peers into the old lady's half-open mouth. The two children carry on their conversation in hushed tones._

**Oscar: **_Climbs onto armrest._Your grandmother has very crooked teeth, André.

**André: **_Scowls._ Of course she does—she's old!

**Oscar: **And that's exactly why we're here. Alright, hold your hands underneath her nose in case I drop them.

**André: **I can't believe were doing this… _Stands in front of his grandmother and holds up his hands with a small scowl on his face._

**Oscar: **You agreed to come with me!

_Oscar carefully hooks her right forefinger around the bridge of the glasses while using her left hand to slowly slide the glasses down her nose. She looses her balance and almost topples on top of Madame Grandier, but André catches her and helps her back up._

**Madame Grandier: **_Snorts in her sleep._ Huh?

_André and Oscar freeze, but relax when Madame Grandier does so as well._

**André: **Wow… That was really close.

_Oscar bites her lip in concentration and manages to get the glasses off of Mme. Grandier's face. She holds them in her hands as if they are a treasured heirloom._

**André: **Come on, Oscar! Let's go!

**Oscar:** Alright—We'll got to the stables since they're closer.

**André: **Fine, fine, whatever. Let's just get out of here.

_They run out of the room as quickly and as silently as they can. Oscar holds the glasses close to her body, as if hiding a precious secret. André limps after her as fast as he is able to—his foot is still injured from its encounter with the nail. Upon reaching the stables, Oscar and André sit side by side on one of the large bales of hay located by the small building._

**Oscar: **I'll go first. _Places the glasses on her face. They are too large for her slight frame and big her the appearance of an odd bug—her eyes are magnified to amazing proportions._ Well, André? How would I look if I was old?

**André: **_Blinks, unsure of what to say._ Well… They… Uh… Well, you do look older. Can you see anything?

**Oscar: **A bit, yeah. It's all blurry though—my head hurts from just trying to make out your big head. _Grins when he blushes. _Hm. Wish I had a mirror. Alright, your turn. _Hands them to André._

**André: **Thanks. _Puts glasses on and yells a few moments later._ Ack! Oscar! I… I can't see anything! _Hurriedly takes glasses off and rubs his eyes._Oh, my eyes… Anyway, how did I look? Older, smarter… What?

**Oscar:** Well, you did look smarter. But then… Anything does. You look like such a stupid buffoon sometimes. _Laughs._

_André growls and tackles Oscar off the hay—the glasses fly off of his lap and land in a conveniently placed mud puddle a few feet away, where they remain. The two children attack each other, rolling about in the dust until André pins Oscar to the ground and triumphantly straddles her stomach._

**Oscar: **_Growls._ You lout—you only won because you're bigger than me. I could beat you at fencing any day. Now get off, you're squishing me!

**André: **_Grins_. Whatever you say, Oscar. _Gets up and helps Oscar to her feet before pausing._ Hey, wait a minute…

**Oscar:** _Stops dusting herself off long enough to look up at him._ What?

**André: **_Bites his lower lip and looks around nervously. _Where are Granny's glasses? _Sees mud puddle and stares at in horror when he makes out part of the ear piece sticking out of the muck._ Oh no…

**Oscar: **What are you looking at? _Follows André's gaze and eyes the puddle with growing realization._ Please don't tell me that the glasses are in there…

**André:** I hope they're not broken! _Limps to the puddle and picks up the glasses. Although they are covered in mud, they look relatively fine._ Thank God, they're alright.

_André uses his sleeve to clean the glasses and gasps in horror as the right lens pops out onto the ground. Oscar looks a bit sick. Neither notices Mme. Grandier walking towards them and stopping a few paces behind._

**Oscar:** André… What's your grandmother going to say?

**Madame Grandier:** Why don't you ask her yourself?_ Arms are crossed over her chest, while she holds her spoon in one hand. Glares at the children as she taps her foot impatiently on the ground._

_Oscar and André turn around slowly to face her. Both attempt to be the image of pure innocence, but the image is spoiled by their fidgety movements and the broken glasses in André's hands. The children manage to mumble out one word before the spoon flies out and knocks them both on the head._

**Oscar and André:**_ Tentatively. _...Sorry?

_End scene._

* * *

**Xirysa Says: **Oh, that was fun. A very fun one indeed. And actually… Yeah, that's the longest oneshot in this series as of now. And glasses… I've never broken my own, but I've come very close. Currently, my own pair are sitting on my dresser, bent out of shape because I ran into a tree and got a bloody nose. But that's a story for another time. Ehm… What did y'all think of this one? The feedback and critique is, as usual, very much welcome! Ah, and next chapter... "Harlequin" is one of my favorite words. I like what it IS and how to pronounce it. Anyway, as background information for the next chapter, the definition of harlequin is either a court jester or fancifully varied in color, decoration, etc. And it's a French word, I do believe. Or comes from a French root. Which makes it epic win.

_Up Next: _The Letter "H": Harlequin


	8. H is for Harlequin

**Xirysa Says: **I was actually a harlequin for Halloween last year. It was epic. Except that when my friends and I went trick-or-treating, I ended up telling people that I was a mime instead since they didn't know what a harlequin was. –shot- Oh well. What can one do about the ignorance of the common folk?

* * *

"H" Is for Harlequin

Rosalie could not believe her good fortune. Only a little over seven weeks ago, she had been offered a home in the Jarjayes manor, where the famous Oscar François de Jarjayes lived. Lady Oscar's family had welcomed her with open arms, and had done everything in their power to make her feel at home. She had to admit that they had done a splendid job. Lady Oscar, André, Nanny, Madame… Even the General had complimented her once. Although that was a very awkward experience indeed…

They had been so kind to her—she felt that the only way she could repay them back was to help them around the house as much as possible. That was why, when she heard Nanny complaining about a splitting headache, she had offered to make the day's bread herself. When Rosalie also considered the fact that she liked to bake bread, she found that she was quite content.

So engrossed in her works was she that she didn't notice two people enter the room. She was busy sprinkling some flour on the warm bread dough—some of it managed to fly into her face, and she sneezed when the fine white powder tickled her nose. They watched her work for a few minutes before the shorter of the two spoke.

"Rosalie."

She paused in her task and looked up at the speaker. Oscar François de Jarjayes stood in front of her, one hand resting easily on the hilt of her sword—it was evident that she had just come back from Versailles. André was just behind her, arms crossed over his chest and an odd expression on his face, as if trying to hold back laughter. Dimly aware that she was covered in flour, Rosalie hastily straightened up and wiped her hands on her apron. She tucked some flyaway wisps of hair behind her ears in an attempt at some semblance of order.

"Bonjour, Lady Oscar. Hello, André. Can I help you two with something?" Rosalie, now fully aware of the flour smudged across her forehead and the fact that her nose was tomato red from sneezing so much, blushed to the roots of her hair. Something about being in the presence of the Jarjayes heir always made her flustered.

Lady Oscar raised an eyebrow—she looked, for lack of a better word, _amused_. "Why yes, Rosalie. I actually have a question for you." She waited for the younger girl to register this information before continuing. "How would you like to accompany me to a costume party Duchess Eliandre is holding tonight?"

Poor Rosalie couldn't believe it. Did Lady Oscar think that she, Rosalie of the slums of Paris, was ready for such an extravagant affair?

Evidently she did, because she began to chuckle. "Rosalie, if you don't want to, it's alright." She turned to walk out of the small kitchen when Rosalie stopped her.

"W-wait! Lady Oscar! I would love to—I'd be honored to go to the party with you and André tonight!" Rosalie looked like she was about to have a seizure—the poor girl was shaking so from excitement and glee!

André gave her a small smile. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Rosalie, but I won't be joining you today. I thought I'd spend the evening with my grandmother." He sighed when he saw her look a little put out though. "Don't worry, though—I'll be there in spirit!"

Rosalie looked up at him and smiled. "We'll do something fun later, alright André?"

"Of course, Rosalie," André replied, his green eyes twinkling merrily.

-x-x-x-

_The party is more beautiful than I imagined it_, Rosalie thought as she entered the great hall of the Eliandre estate. _The people are beautiful too, even if they all are in costume_.

Of course, Rosalie had to admit that she looked quite good herself. Nanny had found a lovely pink dress and a matching mask that had belonged to one of Lady Oscar's sisters, and Madame had even given her some jewelry for the occasion. A few adjustments later, she was ready to go. André had said that she looked exactly like a fairytale princess.

Rosalie stood next to Lady Oscar as she spoke to a gaggling group of giggling noble girls, feeling slightly out of place. Oh, why had she agreed to come to this place? She was certain that someone would be able to tell she was a commoner. This really was a bad idea, she decided.

It was while contemplating these very thoughts that Rosalie felt someone tap her shoulder. Muffling a cry of surprise, Rosalie quickly spun around.

A tall dark haired man stood behind her, a most pleasant expression on his face. He really was quite handsome, Rosalie noted, though his choice of clothing was a bit odd… But then again, it _was_ a costume party.

His clothing was as dark as his hair, which fell about his face in soft waves. The pattern of the cloth itself was most curious—a checkered pattern of alternating black and blue squares, it reminded her of the costumes that the court jesters she had seen in books had worn. In contrast, however, the man did not look like a court jester at all. His clothes fit him very well, she noted. A black mask over his face completed the image, leaving only his mouth and dark green eyes visible. Despite this, however, she could see that he was very handsome. In fact, if she didn't know better, she would have said that he looked quite a bit like…

Too shocked to say anything, Rosalie simply stood rooted to the spot. Fortunately, rescue came in the form of Lady Oscar, who regarded the strange man with narrowed eyes. Finally, she spoke.

"May I help you, Monsieur…?" There was no way one could mistake the coldness in her tone for something more pleasant.

The man answered in a low baritone voice. It sounded quite familiar, though Rosalie could not remember why. "Ah. Lady Oscar… Please, call me Harlequin. And I was simply going to ask the young lady for a dance. Of course I should have probably asked you, seeing as you appear to be her chaperone. My apologies."

He made an elegantly low bow to Rosalie, who quite certain she was redder than the apples that grew on the tree in front of the Jarjayes stables.

Lady Oscar stared at the man for a but before answering. "Monsieur Harlequin, you are right. I am her chaperone. Therefore, it is only fitting that I dance with you first before you dance with my charge."

"Harlequin" blushed at these words, but seemed to retain his composure. "Forgive me, my lady, but if you were seen dancing with me, the nobles would see you in a different light. You would be the topic of gossip for weeks on end." Lady Oscar remained still for a few moments before speaking.

"…Rosalie." For the second time that day, Lady Oscar called her name. The girl in questions immediately focused her gaze on the Jarjayes heir, who in turn looked from her to the man thoughtfully. "Do you wish to dance?"

"If you'll let me, Lady Oscar."

When Rosalie was given an affirmative glance by Lady Oscar, she turned to the man in front of her and curtsied. "Monsieur Harlequin… I would be honored to dance with you."

He smiled at Rosalie and took her rather small hand in his rather large gloved one. Raising it to his lips, he kissed the back of it softly.

"Thank you very much, Mademoiselle." He suddenly winked at her, and Rosalie couldn't help but feel like she had met this strange man before. So flustered was she that she didn't see Lady Oscar behind her, struggling to not start laughing at them.

-x-x-x-

They found André reading by the fire when they got home. He got up and smiled at them as they walked through the front door, one hand marking his place in the book. Rosalie smiled back.

"How was your evening, André?"

"Pretty uneventful, actually. Granny decided to go to bed early since she wasn't feeling very well earlier. I decided to get some reading done while waiting for you two to come home. Speaking of which… How was the party?"

Rosalie flushed again. "Well, I danced with a strange man tonight. Actually, André, he reminded me of you."

André laughed. "Well, did he now? Must have been the hair—there's quite a few young nobles my age who have dark hair too. Oh, before I forget! Let's go to the kitchen. Granny made some hot chocolate before she went to bed. I'll warm it up for you."

He turned to head to the kitchen, hastily slipping something into his book to mark his place. Rosalie followed him, telling him all about the strange man she had danced with in the strange harlequin suit.

Lady Oscar hung back and looked at the book André had been reading. She flipped to the page he had stopped at and smiled when she saw the black mask he had used to mark his page.

* * *

**Xirysa Says:** Holy snap, that was a long one! 1,521 words! Wow… Anyway, it may not seem like it's Oscar and André, but I swear it's there. Except that you need to squint to see it… And I know I said I was going to try to squish in more characters, but… I couldn't figure out how to do that. I'm sorry! –cries- On a happier note, though… Oh ho ho! The next chapter's going to be a fun one to do… And I swear it's nothing perverted. Although if you take it out of context… XD

_Up Next:_ The Letter "I": Innuendo


	9. I is for Innuendo

**Xirysa Says: **I never thought that I'd say this, but… I'm glad that being in band has given me the ability to detect a sexual innuendo wherever I go. Really, I am. Even though it sounds rather wrong... Anyway, innuendos are filled with jolly good fun. As I told one of my close IRL friends once: "If you take everything out of context, it becomes an innuendo." It's true if you think about it.

* * *

"I" Is for Innuendo

Alain de Soissons was lout and knew it. In fact, he prided himself on his ability to take any statement out of context to turn it into something decidedly more vulgar. Actually, quite a few of the men in the company were the same way, but he considered himself to be above the rest of them—it was a simple unstated and obvious fact that Alain was the self-appointed King of Innuendo.

So when he found himself walking back to the barracks with a flask of cheap beer in his hand (not stumbling, since he wasn't that drunk yet) searching for his drinking partner, Alain wasn't too surprised when he heard André's voice coming from behind a closed door. After all, everyone knew that it was a habit of his to walk about around this time of night.

Reaching a hand to the doorknob, Alain was about to open the door when he realized that it led to the commander's office. Alain frowned and rubbed his chin with his free hand. He knew that the two were close, but honestly… Why was André in there? And where was the commander, anyway?

As if on cue, he heard the unmistakable voice of the very woman telling his friend to move something out of the way and get comfortable so that they could get comfortable and get it over with and…

Wait just a moment—_what_, exactly, did she say?

Alain leaned against the door and pressed an ear to the wood in the hope of listening to whatever it was that was going on in that room. Yes, listening—Alain wasn't an eavesdropper! Speaking of which…

Cupping a hand to his ear, Alain shifted his position by the door until he found himself listening through the keyhole. It was an interesting situation, he mused as he took a sip of beer from his flask. The commander that her love-struck fool of a soldier were currently alone in her office, the large wooden door locked behind them—

It took a moment for the thought to actually sink in.

Oh, snap! Alain suddenly felt rather warm and loosened the collar of his uniform a bit more. Were they doing what he thought they were doing? Because if they were…

_Hot damn, André!_ Alain grinned to himself. _Took you long enough!_ Of course… He, as a loyal best friend, had to make sure that things went swimmingly, did he not?

Running a hand through his dark hair, Alain sighed happily and made himself comfortable on the cold floor. This was going to get interesting. Incredibly interesting indeed.

So lost in his thoughts was he that he at first didn't register the sound coming from the other side of the door. Or rather, the _lack_ of sound. Hm… So they preferred to be silent, did they? That was fine with him. Though normally not a patient man, this was one thing Alain decided he could wait for.

Oh, there! He heard something! A suspiciously girlish squeak followed by a low, rumbling growl. What was going on in there? They sounded just like animals! Unconsciously, Alain found himself leaning towards the door way, the flask in his hand forgotten.

"Mph! André! My face is all wet!"

"I'm sorry, Oscar, but it's not exactly my fault."

"Yes it is, you oaf. You're the one who insisted we do this now!"

"Oscar, you told me that the best kind of birthday present would be one that some one would never forget!"

"…Alright. You win. Now come here and help me—I can't get this ribbon myself."

Although he was never sure if it was the conversation he had overheard, the beer he had drunk, the fact that he was delirious, or a combination of the three, the last thing Alain remembered hearing before passing out was a muffled bark.

-x-x-x-

"Happy birthday, Granny!" André exclaimed as he thrust a brightly colored box into his grandmother's hands. The older woman smiled at the two people before her and laughed.

"Oh, thank you two! But why is the box so heavy, I wonder…?" The old woman lifted the top of the box off and gave a startled little squeak of surprise as a small black puppy with a red ribbon around its neck jumped out of the box and into her lap.

Madame Grandier laughed again. "That's so sweet of you! Thanks so much!" She let out another little giggle as the puppy licked her cheek.

Oscar and André left the old woman to play with her new pet. Although both were happy for the old woman, Oscar couldn't help but feel a little uneasy. Evidently, it showed on her face, for André soon asked her what was wrong.

"It's nothing, really. I just keep wondering why we found Alain passed out on the floor in front of the office."

André shrugged. "Maybe it was bad beer."

* * *

**Xirysa Says:** Something light to get me out of this little depression I'm in... XD What can you do? C'est la vie, after all... Ah… Innuendos make the world go 'round, don't they? –shot- Oh well. Being a bando… Well, there's certainly many innuendos there. And I'm sorry for the late update, but school's getting rather painful. Eep. Why am I killing myself with so many hard classes? Anyway, I know this is a bit rushed, but… I really wanted to have the next chapter up. So here's for you guys! ILU ALL.

_Up Next:_ The Letter "J": Jagged


	10. J is for Jagged

**Xirysa Says:** Sorry for the delay, folks. School's killing me… And I lost the notebook I had this written in. But I found it again. Underneath my bed. XD So sorry for the delay. Please don't kill me! Takes place after the "My André!" confession/realization. I don't know if anyone has realized it yet, but most of the chapters have something related to a previous one... Guess what this one is?

* * *

J is for Jagged

He stares at the broken wine glass before him, eyes clouded over in an alcoholic stupor.

It is one of the most beautiful things he has ever seen, he thinks.

The stem of the glass is cracked once in the middle and again where it meets the base, which is decorated with a series of hairline fractures, pale white against the darkness of the hardwood floor. Splinters of glass surround the object from whence they came, some pieces lodged in the floor from the impact of collision.

But perhaps the thing he finds most enchanting bout the object before him is the jagged pattern winds its way over the edges of the head of the glass, effectively splitting it in two.

Mesmerized by it, he continues to stare at the broken glass. Dark burgundy droplets cling to the smooth inside, and he can still see the smudge his lips have left on the clear surface.

Now sitting on his knees, he slowly reaches a hand forward and brushes his hand over the jagged edges of the glass. Despite his intoxicated state, he is sober enough to know what the glass reminds him of.

The way the two halves of the head—no, the entire body of the glass!—seem to fit together even when separated. So unlike his relationship with the one person that was more important to him than life itself. The one person he was losing his sight for. The one person he would willingly give his life for without a second thought.

_You are the light and I am the shadow, a bond that can never be broken._

A shadow cannot exist without its light. Yet something had happened, and it caused the once bright light to flicker and the shadow to dwindle away.

It seemed, though, that the light was burning fiercely once more. After all, she had said that he was forgiven, didn't he? That the "Incident," as they called it, was behind them and should be forgotten?

Though it was true that they could once again be found in each other's company, laughing and talking like they used to. But their once solid friendship, like the wine glass, now lies in jagged pieces.

Cupping one hand, he begins to pick up the pieces. He doesn't notice that he has cut his index finger on one of the sharp edges until he feels the blood slowly ripping down his hand. Pausing in his work, he observes the wound.

Though it is not deep, the cut is wide, and he winces slightly when he sees a small splinter of glass embedded into his finger. Depositing the remaining pieces of glass in a small heap in front of him, he simply stares at the wound, oblivious to everything else. Where there should be pain, he feels nothing but a dull emptiness. A drop of alcohol that lingered on the glass slides into the gash, but it stings for only a moment. He feels another stinging behind his eyes and doesn't even try to make it stop.

Without warning, the tears begin to trace silent paths down his cheeks, dripping down his nose and splattering the floor or getting caught in his thick curls. He does not know why he is crying, but he's been holding the _tears_ for so _long_ and they just need to be _gone_…

How long he sits there he does not know. Only when he hears a familiar voice—oh, why _that_ voice?—calling his name does he stir. He looks up just as _she_, of all people, walks into the room. She looks from his tearstained face to the remnants of the wine glass on the floor. Her gaze lands on his hand and she sighs.

She looks at him exasperatedly. "What did you do now, André?" Peering down at his face, her eyebrows raise a bit in surprise. "You're drunk."

It sounds more like a question than a statement.

Grabbing his elbow, she pulls him up and takes his rather large hand in her rather small ones and examines the cut. She squints and meticulously picks at the wound and smiles triumphantly when she pulls out the piece of glass. "Got it! Nasty little thing, though. Must have hurt like hell." She tosses the piece onto the little pile and brings his hand closer to her face. "I wonder what happened, though…"

He finally responds. "It was nothing. Go on, I'll clean up." When she opens her mouth to talk back, he waves her out of the room and she complies, albeit very unwillingly.

Something has changed about their relationship, he thinks as she leaves the room. He could feel it, the way the air between them was no longer filled with the awkwardness that had separated them for so long. Picking up the pieces one by one, he finally takes the head of the glass and fits the two jagged edges together.

It looks so much more beautifu than before. So beautiful indeed.

* * *

**Xirysa Says:** I… Honestly don't know what happened there. Really, I don't. It was supposed to be more angst-y, actually. I haven't written angst in a very long time, though. Maybe that's why. Anyway, this was supposed to take place after the "My André!" confession of Oscar. Which would be why she approaches him so willingly. Alright, I know the chapter sucks. But I'm studying AP biology at the same time. Aerobic respiration, anaerobic, the Krebs cycle, ATP synthase… It's all blurring together in my smallish mind. Boy, was I smart when I signed up for four AP classes this year. Sure, I knew junior year was gonna be hard, but really! This is ridiculous… Ending that rant, letter K should be up relatively soon…

_Up Next:_ The Letter "K": Knife


	11. K is for Knife

**Xirysa Says:** Short chapters are made of epic win, I think. School sucks. That's all I have to say on the matter. But… I said I was going to update relatively soon, didn't I? Hehehe, it's the least I could do for you guys… Ahahaha, does a certain knife in this sound familiar at all? Ack, my neck hurts… Ah, and even though Nanny is André's _maternal_ grandmother, I've decided to make her his _paternal_ grandmother for this series. Because I just found out that little bit of information.

* * *

"K" is for Knife

The room was totally silent.

It wasn't the kind of awkward silence between people when they had run out of topics for conversation, nor was it the charged silence that filled the air when someone was found guilty of something. No, it wasn't any of these. On the contrary, this particular silence was the comfortable silence that was fairly common between friends and comrades. In fact, it didn't feel odd at all; it was, for lack of a better word, rather nice.

This silence was one filled with comfort and understanding.

Both Oscar and André appreciated it. She liked the fact that it allowed both of them to do whatever it was that was required of them, and André reveled in the innocent intimacy they shared. It was times like this that he was glad that Oscar was a girl, even though he would never admit it—they tended to be more calm and collected than boys.

The boy sat on a stool while contemplating this, flanked on either side by large metal tubs. One tub contained rich, earthy brown potatoes, while the other held the pale flesh of peeled ones. A wooden bucket that rested between his knees held the skins. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up well past his elbows to prevent them getting in the way as he methodically peeled the tubers with a small dull knife.

Standing by a window a few feet away, Oscar watched her friend as he carried out the task at hand. Amused at the way his face was crinkled up in concentration, she attempted to imitate the expression and laughed quietly when she saw her reflection in the window. His head shot up and he looked at her questioningly, but she shook her head and waved her hand, silently telling him to carry on.

He shrugged but continued, and a few more minutes passed by. Oscar sighed and leaned her head against the window, letting the fingers of one hand tap a steady rhythm on the window pane while the other fingered the small knife tucked into her belt. Speaking of knives… She looked at André's hands for a moment before speaking.

"Hey, André?"

Too focused on his chore to look up, the boy made an affirmative grunt.

"Don't you think that 'knife' is a funny word?" She pulled her own from her belt and examined it in the faint light that streamed through the window.

André paused for a moment and looked up at her. "Why are you asking me this out of the blue?"

"Well…" She leaned back on the window and pulled the knife out of its sheath. It was a beautiful knife, she thought, one her father had given her a few days ago. He had said that all men needed a proper knife if they didn't have a sword. "No reason, really. Just asking."

Finishing up the potato in his hands, André tossed his own knife on the floor and wiped his hands on a rag before speaking. "I guess it is. I mean… It's spelled _k-n-i-f-e_, but when you say it, you say _nife_ instead of _kuh-nife_. So… Yeah. I guess it is a funny word when I think about it."

Oscar nodded and became quiet again. Thinking she had finished saying whatever it was she wanted to, André sighed and picked up the knife. After all, potatoes didn't exactly peel themselves. Granny would have his head on a platter if he didn't finish by the time she was ready to make dinner.

Apparently, though, Oscar felt that the conversation wasn't quite yet over. She spoke suddenly, and a bit louder than she intended. "Your knife's a bit dull, André. Did you know that?"

He jumped at the sudden change in her volume, almost falling into the bin that contained the potato peels. His ears and face turned apple-red upon hearing Oscar's laughter, but after regaining his balance and some of his dignity, André bent down and picked up his small blade. He walked over to the window and stood by Oscar and inspected the knife by holding it up to the light.

Tapping her nose thoughtfully, Oscar examined her own knife. It was a nice one, she had to admit. The blade, though small, was still sharp enough to cause serious harm when needed and was perfect for someone her size to use. She absentmindedly scratched a random jagged pattern underneath the windowsill as André vocalized his observations.

"Huh… I guess the blade _is_ kind of dull. This knife used to belong to my father," he told her with a hint of pride, "and Granny gave it to me after I came here. But other than that, it's a good knife. I like it."

Oscar looked the knife over with a critical eye and smirk. "A man's only as good as his weapon. And if we're judging based on our knives, then I'm clearly the bigger man."

Clutching the knife's red hilt tightly in his fist, André pouted; actually, it looked more like a grimace, since real men didn't pout. "Then I'll get a better knife than you, Oscar. _Then_ we'll see who's the bigger man!"

She simply laughed. "Alright then, sir. This afternoon, the usual time, Knife-spar underneath the apple tree." She tapped his forehead with his index finger and laughed.

Andre scowled. "You're on, Oscar."

-x-x-x-

"I know there's one around here somewhere…" André crawled about the kitchen on his hands and knees to avoid being caught by one of the maids—the last time he and Oscar had journeyed (well, Oscar had dragged André there with her) to the kitchen, the broccoli that was supposed to be used for that night's dinner had mysteriously vanished and had reappeared in Madame's best vase. Therefore, Oscar and André (but mostly André, for some odd reason) weren't allowed in the kitchen until further notice.

Hearing the tell-tale swish of a skirt, André ducked behind a counter and held his breath. He turned back just in time to see his grandmother walk by. Exhaling quietly, André turned and snuck over to his destination. This wasn't just about who had a better knife anymore—it was now a matter of masculine pride.

Reaching upwards, André scrambled onto the counter. His face took on an uncharacteristic expression as he found what he had been searching for.

"I wonder who the bigger man is _now_, Oscar!"

-x-x-x-

Oscar found herself waiting for André under the apple tree at the usual time. She was nonchalantly picking out some mud that had accumulated on the soles of her shoes when she saw him. He was hiding something behind his back, and the expression on his face was odd.

She stood up and looked him over. His small red knife was no where to be found. She smirked—this was going to be easy. The only thing that unnerved her a bit was the oddly cocky attitude that seemed to surround it.

"Ready to lose, André?" she catcalled as she stood up and assumed an offensive position.

He grinned. "Anytime you're ready to, Oscar?" Keeping his arms behind his back, he slowly moved so that he had more arm room—the knife he had found was a small one his grandmother used to cut up fruit with, but it was still very sharp and he wasn't used to holding it yet.

Despite the charged atmosphere, however, neither of them moved. Secretly, each hoped that the other would back out. Yes, they were proficient with swords, but knives were an entirely different story.

Perhaps it was a good thing that they did nothing, for André's grandmother was, at that moment, searching for her favorite fruit-cutting knife. She bit her lip nervously. Someone had told her that they had seen André slinking around the kitchen, and she had put two and two together.

Finally, she saw them, standing in the shade of the apple tree. And she did what all concerned grandmothers did.

She screamed.

-x-x-x-

It was quiet once again.

This time, however, the silence was neither comfortable nor nice. It was thick and heavy and guilt-ridden instead.

Oscar tilted her head to the side and glared at André. "I can't believe I'm doing your chores." She viciously stabbed a poor potato to prove her point.

André simply sighed. "I can't believe I actually let your silly challenge get to my mind like that." He carved a despondent little face into another tuber before peeling it completely.

Madame Grandier snorted. "Well, _I_ can't believe that you two decided to have a knife fight! Now get to work—those potatoes aren't going to peel themselves, you know."

* * *

**Xirysa Says:** Potatoes are fun to peel, I think. Of course… We boil them first and then peel them using our hands instead of knives. But potato _kura_ is delicious. Actually… Most Indian food, I think, is delicious. I'm happy that I'm Indian. XD Anyway… Sorry. That went off on a tangent I really didn't mean for it to. Either way, potatoes are good. And "knife" is a funny word. I had a conversation with my dad about the pronunciation of certain words in the English language. While eating potatoes during dinner. And thus, the chapter was born! –shot– Oh well. Heehee, anyone know what "lapin" means? It's French, I'll tell you that. Thank God I've been learning French in school for the past four years...

_Up Next: _The Letter "L"_: Lapin_


	12. L is for Lapin

**Xirysa Says:** This chapter is for **Scision**, who also happens to be a very good friend of mine IRL. As such, I filled this chapter (mostly the dialogue) with many of our inside jokes from our French AP class. So if it doesn't make much sense... That would be why. Plus... Girodelle needs more love. Poor baby.

* * *

L is for Lapin

Victor Clement de Girodelle honestly couldn't say when he fell in love with her. Perhaps it was when she bested him in that duel that day so many years ago, or maybe during the course of one of the many drill practices she put them through as Colonel.

Either way, it did not matter.

He was smitten with her. Completely, fully, and hopelessly in love with Oscar François de Jarjayes.

When he asked General de Jarjayes for Oscar's hand in marriage, Girodelle had been expecting a full-out refusal. Instead, he was pleasantly surprised when the proposal was accepted.

Oscar François de Girodelle. It had a nice sound to it, he decided. A lovely name for a lovely wife.

But his beloved was not happy.

And Girodelle knew why.

All because of _les petits lapins_.

It had been one of his rare days off, and Girodelle had decided to visit the de Jarjayes mansion. When he arrived, her nanny had told him that Oscar was by the stables. Thanking the old woman, Girodelle had left and made his way there.

He had reached the row of hedges separating the stables and barn from the main house when he heard her voice on the wind. Deciding to surpise her, he had hidden and peered around a large bush where he had heard her.

The sight that greeted him that day was totally unexpected.

She was kneeling in the grass inside of a little fenced-in area underneath a large apple tree. In her arms was _un lapin noir_. Its ears tickled her chin, and she laughed.

Girodelle could feel his heart melt at the sound of her beautiful voice and unconsciously raised a hand to his chest. Oh, how he loved her! Abandoning all rational thought, Girodelle had prepared himself to run to her and join her. But something stopped him.

Or rather, someone.

He was standing in the pen with her, the dark-haired man who acted like her shadow. His arms were folded across his chest, and he was watching Oscar with a very odd expression on his face.

Girodelle suddenly found himself unexpectedly angry.

For the first time in his life, Girodelle did not see André Grandier as a commoner—he was now a rival.

Though he wanted to run to them and throttle André, something compelled him to stop and watch.

_Le lapin noir_ jumped out of Oscar's arms and sniffed André's foot before nipping at his ankle experimentally. André juimped and yelped and Oscar began laughing again.

The wind blew and carried bits of their conversation with it.

_"Ah! Le lapin stupid!"_

_"Mais non, Andé! Le lapin t'aime!"_

_"...Mais non? Mais oui, Oscar! Je n'aime pas les lapins."_

_"C'est vrai? Bah... Je voudrais beaucoup de lapins!"_

_"Euh? Non! Je..."_

_"Alors. Tu es un lapin bleu, mon ami."_

_"Pardon?"_

_"Hm... Non. Tu es un napperon..."_

Girodelle listened to their pointless banter, heard Oscar sing a little ditty about _les petits lapins dansent_, watched their faces, and finally understood.

Turning quickly on his heel, he made his way back to where his carriage waited for him. He stopped only once, when he passed the fountain in the middle of the courtyard.

Staring at his wavery reflection in the surgace of the water, Girodelle pulled a small box out of his pocket. He snapped it open and pulled out the small ring it contained. Raising it up to the setting sun, he smiled wistfully at it before tossing it into the fountain.

He dabbed at the corners of his eyes as he continued on, not bothering to look back at wher the ring glinted forlornly at the bottom of the fountain.

Oscar François Grandier sounded better anyway.

* * *

**Xirysa Says:** So. This week was Spirit Week for Homecoming. And our school goes _all out_. Seriously, it does. And I got so many lovely 'fic ideas for it... Ohoho, I'm excited. And last night was the dance. Which was fun. Now: Girodelle. Poor man doesn't get enough love, I think. And I really hope I wrote him properly... I think I made him seem like a total romantic sap. Oh, and the dialogue... Please don't ask. Yes, she calls him a doiley. There's a bit of a story behind that... And back to Girodelle. Really, he's such a nice guy. And... Yeah. I'd expect him to be very excited about it, while Oscar's just like... "No." And the dialouge is in French, sorry. It's mostly nonsense, anyway.

_Up Next:_ The Letter "M": Music


	13. M is for Music

**Xirysa Says:** Hm. I really needed to start working on this one again... Alright, then! On we go!

* * *

"M" is for Music

_Capo._ It started out quietly, hesitantly. This was something both of them had never experienced. Sacred, special. But so much fear, so much hesitance...

He touched his lips to hers softly, almost feather-light. Over and over, their mouths met, and each time, it was sweeter than the last, their fears melting away. _Dolce._

_Bravura. _But she wanted more, so much more. And with a boldness she did not know she possessed, she placed his hand on her heart and looked up at him; her eyes showed him what she wanted, what she absoluteley _needed._

_Please_, she whispered.

And he kissed her softly before he answered. _All right._

_Energico_. The music took on a new energy, then, as their bodies moved together as one. So much vigor, so much life... As if to leave behind all the years of pain, all the eons of heartache they had had to hide.

And the house was silent as they danced to music that was all their own. Their pounding hearts kept the tempo, their sighs and moans the melody as they cresendoed to the peak of the song. He called out his love for her, and she answered with equal vigor.

_Yes_, she sang to him. _Yes, I will love only you, from now until forever_.

And even as the music descresendoed to a point where the melody was almost a whisper, they could still hear the music over the beating of their hearts. The tears fell, for both of them, for neither had ever felt so warm and loved in their entire lives. _Calore._

_Calando._ They lay in the afterglow, warm and content and blissfully lethargic, as their breathing quieted and their pounding hearts slowly resumed a normal pace. But it was not to last.

They would perform their song many times that night. _Encore._

* * *

**Xirysa Says:** Originally had a different idea for this one, actually. But then again... It didn't really fit in with this one. So I'm saving it for a rainy day, I suppose. Hehehe. Bandos for life, man. XD You know I had to put _some_ humor in there, right? Well, maybe it's only funny to me... Feedback is love~

Up Next:_ The Letter "N": Never_


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